


not lovers, but more than friends

by colfield



Category: Outer Banks (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Drabble Collection, M/M, Multi, References to Alcohol, References to Drugs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-15
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:22:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26484871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/colfield/pseuds/colfield
Summary: It's about the friends-to-lovers of it all.
Relationships: JJ/Pope (Outer Banks)
Comments: 20
Kudos: 41





	1. it’s this dream I keep having where I’m begging

**Author's Note:**

> Cross posting tumblr ficlets/drabbles upon request! Title credit for this collection goes to CRJ - gotta stick to my theme.

It comes in flashes: JJ bloodied and broken. Kie crying out for him. John B gasping as water fills his lungs. Rafe swinging a golf club.

Pope wakes shaking and sweating, alone.

Logically, he knows the nightmares are a trauma reaction. He can recognize the way fear sits in his body, rationalize that the images he’s seeing are memories twisted to their extremes. And he knows that he’s safe, that his friends are safe, repeats it like an invocation in the dark, but he still can’t stop dreaming of them slipping away from him.

So he just - stops sleeping. Not fully. He’s not an idiot. But so long as he doesn’t let himself drift into the deep realm where nightmares exist, he’s free.

Pope is fine. He’s in control. He can handle this.

It’s JJ who notices, in the end.

“You look like shit,” he says by way of greeting, dropping a coffee into Pope’s hand. “When was the last time you slept?”

“I slept last night,” Pope answers immediately, not even a lie. He did sleep, on and off, for twenty minutes at a time. JJ scoffs, but doesn’t argue the point. He hoists himself onto the counter next to Pope, grinning down at him and stealing the pen Pope has been using to mark his book. He starts drawing on the corner of the page, little doodles of surfers and curling waves. Pope watches, zoning out until everything except JJ’s familiar scrawl has gone blurry.

“Dude,” JJ says, managing to fill that word with meaning. Pope blinks back to focus, the styrofoam in his hands crinkling as he curls his fingers inward. In the corner, next to the two surfers JJ has drawn, is a little heart and his messy signature. 

Pope rubs his hands over his cheeks. “I’m fine.” JJ is staring at him, face scrunched around a frown.

“Pope,” his dad snaps, shaking his head as he passes by, “how many times I gotta tell ya,” he swats at JJ’s back, “keep your damn friends off my counters.”

“Sorry, Heyward,” JJ says, spinning half his body around to grin shamelessly at Pope’s dad. He jumps down gracefully, one hand going up to grip Pope around the forearm. “I was just leaving, but y’know, I actually need Pope for something so we’ll just-”

“Uh uh,” his dad starts, but JJ is already pulling Pope away. “Boy, you better not -”

“Yeah, uh, thanks man, you’re the best,” JJ salutes him, “I’ll have him back by curfew,” he shouts over his shoulder, hauling Pope along beside him.

Pope has to bite down on his lip to keep from smiling until they’re safely out of his father’s store. “My dad is going to actually murder you one day, you know that, right?”

JJ winks, throwing one leg over his bike. He holds the helmet out for Pope, who slides in behind him, his own hands finding their place on JJ’s narrow waist. He lets himself relax, shoulders dropping, weight falling into JJ’s back, trusting JJ to steer them safely.

JJ is as reckless a driver as he is with everything else in his life, which is to say Pope trusts him innately, even when he probably shouldn’t.

It’s the Chateau that he takes them too, the old place of refuge, because of course it is. It’s quiet, just them and the trees, and JJ doesn’t talk as he leads Pope around the side of the house. He stops them in front of the hammock, gesturing for Pope to get in. “Go on,” he says.

Pope laughs a little, incredulous, but follows JJ’s instructions. He’s so serious, his brows wrinkled, no trace of his usual humor.

Pope wobbles a bit as he settles, but JJ holds the netting in place so he doesn’t tip over.

“Stay,” he orders, pointing a finger at Pope, before disappearing. He comes back, bearing an armful of blankets from inside, and immediately climbs on top of Pope.

It takes a bit of maneuvering for them both to fit, and Pope takes an elbow to the ribs for his trouble, but soon JJ has them situated how he wants, with Pope tucked all along his front, his arms secure around Pope’s waist.

“JJ -” Pope starts, but JJ squeezes him lightly around the middle.

“I have trouble sleeping too, sometimes,” he says, soft, into Pope’s neck. Pope shivers. “It helps to be somewhere with a lot of light, somewhere you feel safe.”

Pope is so tired. He’s been tired for so long. Without his permission, he feels his eyes start to water. Thankful that JJ can’t see his face, Pope turns his face further into the netting of the hammock, closing his eyes against the stinging heat.

“I’ve got you, Pope,” JJ says. Pope makes a choked sound, scrambling for JJ’s hand on his stomach, linking their fingers. He drifts off into a deep, dreamless sleep with the sun warm on his face and JJ warm at his back.


	2. and I'm sorry that you saw me when I lost my way

The sky is bruised, dark purple spreading like an ink stain above him. JJ kicks his heels against the dock, the soles of his feet skimming over the water. He’s floating in the hazy space of indulgence, a blanket of drug and alcohol to numb the static in his head.

The rhythm of Pope’s steps, as well known to him as the beat of his favorite song, scuff along the aged wooden planks. JJ sighs, sinking into himself. Of course Pope would find him.

Pope doesn’t say anything as he lowers himself next to JJ. Wordlessly, JJ hands over the bottle, watching the ripples his toes make on the water’s surface as the shape of Pope in his periphery drinks from it. Pope chokes at the burn, wincing, and JJ’s lips twitch in the stirrings of a smile.

“God that’s awful,” he says, setting the bottle down on the side furthest from JJ.

“Yeah,” JJ agrees, shrugging.

The wind brings the noise off the water, the familiar sounds that played as the soundtrack to JJ’s childhood. This is where he was raised, with salt-water blood and weather-beaten skin. It’s strange, to feel you no longer fit the place you were born.

He’s having a slight crisis about it.

“Are you avoiding me on purpose, or just being your usual shit-head self?”

JJ frowns, tugging the hat off his head to rub roughly through his stiff hair. “A bit of both, I think.”

Pope nods, staring at the dark water. He’s always liked the way Pope looks on the water. JJ glances sidelong at him, not allowing himself to view Pope full on just yet. 

“I miss you,” he admits, like a coward. Pope breathes out, a sad, heavy exhale that echoes in JJ’s chest. He squeezes his eyes closed.

“Yeah,” Pope chuckles, brittle and fragile. “Whose fault is that?”

JJ laughs, startled. “Alright, guess I deserved that.”

“Yeah,” Pope says again, but it’s lighter. He shifts on the edge of the dock, closing that space between them to bump his shoulder into JJ’s. “I missed you, too, y’know.”

“I know,” JJ says. He lets himself look at Pope fully for the first time and finds that Pope is already looking at him.

“Listen,” Pope starts, nervous. “It really sucked, not being able to talk to you, and I’d rather have you as my friend than nothing, so if this is too much -”

“No,” JJ interrupts, grabbing Pope’s shoulders. “No,” he repeats, shaking Pope a bit. “It was never you.”

“Yeah?” Pope repeats. There’s something like hope in his voice. 

JJ brushes his thumb against the pulse in Pope’s neck, a promise. Pope mirrors the gesture, his fingers cool and dry against JJ’s skin.

When Pope kisses him, JJ is back at 16, desperately in love with his best friend and fearless under the weight of it.


	3. unless I stuck by ya

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bits of my Spidey!Pope au

John B disappears and Pope gets superpowers. The one doesn’t necessarily have to do with the other, but Pope has started bookmarking his life by those two events.

Before John B Disappears.

After He Gets Superpowers. 

And Pope knows how this story goes - anyone who knows about him is a potential weakness, a blind spot, a target. So he doesn’t tell anyone.

(It’s not like he has anyone to tell. Kiara is back to her Kook school and JJ’s hardly around anymore. Pope pretends it doesn’t sting to be left behind. Pope is fine.)

He goes to school, keeps his head down, works evenings at his dad’s bodega. Life continues as normal.

Except for the part where he can climb walls. And lift objects twice his weight. And sometimes he disappears. You know, normal teenage boy stuff.

Pope’s not really interested in the whole superhero shtick, though. He’s got homework. There’s college to think about. And any free time he has is filled with investigating his best friend’s disappearance. Doesn’t really leave a whole lot of time for vigilantism.

But, of course, the universe couldn’t give a fuck about his plans.

He all but runs into JJ getting beat in some alley on his way home. Pope senses it before he can hear it, a fist connecting with his soft parts, the grunting and shuffling dance of a fight. There’s four against one, and Pope’s running towards the noise before he’s even fully made the decision.

It’s been weeks since he’s last seen JJ, but his gut still clenches at the sight of him. Someone’s got his arms pinned, holding his head in place as the others take turns at him. He’s still grinning, taunting them even as he pants for breath. There’s already a nasty bruise on his cheek, and his lip’s been split open.

Pope’s never been the fighter of the two of them. He’s no better at it now, even with superpowers on his side.

After, JJ is standing there, defiant and challenging as he bleeds all over his white shirt. His jaw clenches. Pope watches him, silent under the cheap mask he bought from a party store. The plastic sticks uncomfortably to his skin, and he’s sweating, lightheaded from the rush of adrenaline and seeing JJ again.

“I had that handled,” JJ says, petulant, that familiar tight expression on his face - he’s never looked at Pope that way before. It hurts, deep under Pope’s ribs. Pope has missed him.

And, really, Pope should know better. There are rules to this sort of thing. But, fuck it, Pope’s lonely, and he’s tired of carrying this weight alone, so he squares his shoulders and pulls the mask off.

So that’s how JJ finds out his secret.

-

“Y’know,” JJ says, later, wincing around the bag of frozen peas Pope presses to his face, “you should probably learn to actually fight, if you’re gonna go around breaking shit up.”

“I’m not,” Pope says, rolling his eyes. He grabs JJ’s chin to hold him steady, tipping it up to examine him under the pool of streetlight. “I just heard you getting your ass handed to you and figured you needed help.”

“Uh huh,” JJ says, eying Pope. He sits still, though, and let’s Pope wipe the blood off his face. He’s not used to JJ like this, pilant and subdued. The last time Pope saw him, he was storming out of the detectives office, his tightly coiled rage vibrant, while Pope stood silently, ears still ringing around the words case closed.

Pope lets go of his face and puts space between them. JJ’s still watching him, thoughtful, but Pope isn’t brave enough to meet his eye.

“You can’t tell anyone.” Pope says to his knees after a long beat of silence.

“Yeah, no, I know.”

“I mean it.” He does turn to look at JJ now. His hair is falling limply over his forehead. Pope has the irrational urge to reach out and brush it away. “No one can know about this. Not even Kiara.” JJ nods, serious, holding his gaze.

“Pope, I won’t say anything.”

And, despite all signs saying he shouldn’t, Pope trusts him.

“Where’ve you been, JJ?” Pope forces himself to ask before he loses his nerve.

JJ scuffs his boot on the pavement, stalling. The silence stretches out, and it’s clear that JJ’s not going to answer. Pope pushes up off the sidewalk.

“Listen,” JJ scrambles up after him. “Let me,” he pauses to run his hands through his hair, a nervous tick. “I’ll teach you how to fight. For real.”

Pope sighs. JJ looks so pathetic, his cheek swollen, bag of peas melting in his hands, his eyes wide and pleading. “That’s gonna hurt tomorrow.”

JJ shrugs. “It always does.”

And, well. It’s not like Pope was ever going to deny JJ anything.

Pope’s lip twitches. “You wanna see something cool?”

-

As it turns out, JJ doesn’t actually know how to fight. The extent of his knowledge seems to be how to throw a punch and how to duck.

They spend the rest of the afternoon watching youtube videos on Pope’s phone, old grainy films of different fighting styles, then trying them out.

“Unfair,” JJ wheezes from the ground. Pope reaches down to pull him up, but he forgets his new strength, yanking JJ up too fast. He has to catch JJ against his chest before he falls on his face. “You have the advantage here,” JJ whines. He’s pink-cheeked from exertion, sweaty and disheveled and grinning too much to pout. Pope’s pulse is racing even though he’s barely broken a sweat all afternoon.

It’s good, having JJ around again. Having someone to share this with. JJ makes it fun. He’s continuously awed by Pope’s powers, encouraging and eager whenever Pope falters.

They don’t talk about where he was all those weeks. They don’t talk about John B or the evidence Pope has been collecting. They don’t talk about the empty space they both unconsciously leave between them. They don’t talk about the way JJ goes quiet sometimes, lost in his head, too far away for Pope to reach him. They don’t talk about the way Pope’s not sure who he is supposed to be anymore.

There’s a lot they don’t talk about.

-

Kiara, of course, takes one look at them and figures out they’re keeping something from her.

She’s always been smarter than they give her credit for.

She’s home on break, looking tanned and gorgeous and fierce, and she hugs them both for so long it edges on awkward. “I missed you guys.” She says it honestly, sincerely, raw emotion on her open face. Kiara has never been one to shy away from her feelings. Radical honesty, she told him once.

He can’t look her in the eyes.

Then she punches them both in the arm, hard enough that Pope feels the distant ache of it, and demands to know why they’ve been keeping secrets.

Pope can’t lie to her. But he can’t tell the truth either. He’s stuck, his mouth open around words his throat can’t force out.

And then JJ says, “we’re looking for John B.”

-

They find John B.

Or, at least, someone who knows where he is.

It’s their first solid lead - a name and a location, proof that John B is alive. It’s the closest they’ve been in months. JJ is ecstatic, practically vibrating with excitement, the happiest Pope’s seen him since John B disappeared.

But Pope can’t shake the dread growing in his stomach. He’s already spent too long missing a part of himself, he’s not about to lose JJ too.

Predictably, JJ doesn’t take being left behind too well.

Pope’s got his mask halfway down his face when JJ finds him. His boots slap on the wet pavement, splashing loudly through puddles. He’s not wearing a coat, despite the rain coming down hard now. He looks murderous.

“What the hell, Pope,” he shouts.

Pope puts distance between them. He can’t be on the ground, where JJ is within reach. It’s safer to have this conversation from a vantage with a quick escape.

“Go home, JJ.” He says, trying to keep his voice steady, serious.

“So, what,” JJ holds his arms out by his sides, “that’s it? You’re going off to play hero by yourself?”

“No, JJ, this is serious. This isn’t playing, alright.” His voice is getting higher, desperation speeding his words. JJ’s not meeting his eyes, lips pursed as he shakes his head. “You could get hurt and it would be my fault. I’m not letting you get hurt, okay, so you have to stay-”

“Pope,” JJ shouts, taking Pope’s face, gripping firmly on either side of Pope’s head. Pope is still hanging over JJ, his muscles tensed to keep him suspended. The world is flipped this way, and all Pope can focus on this close is the raindrop caught on JJ’s eyelash, the way it rolls down his cheek like a tear when he blinks.

“Shut up,” JJ says. He’s soaked all the way through now, that ratty old t-shirt of his stuck to his skin, his bare arms prickled in the cold. Pope can feel the slight tremor in his hands as he fights not to shiver. “Just shut up,” he repeats, and with all the enhanced senses in the world, Pope could not have prepared himself for JJ surging forward and putting his mouth to Pope’s.

JJ’s softer with him than he imagined. In the late night fantasies, the ones he really let himself indulge it, it was never like this. He couldn’t have predicted JJ tasting like rainwater, or his cold lips warming between them, or the tenderness with which JJ opens his mouth for Pope. His grip on Pope is still bruising, holding him there as Pope kisses him back.

He presses against Pope one last time, kissing him deeply and thoroughly. Pope’s still trying to catch his breath when JJ nudges his nose against Pope’s chin, pulling away.

Pope opens his eyes, and he has to blink hard against the rain before he can make out JJ’s face. JJ is still holding him, his touch is light, no longer gripping Pope in place. JJ’s thumb brushes along Pope’s cheek. “For once in your life, trust someone else,” he says, his voice low and urgent. He takes three steps back, far out of Pope’s space, and grins at him. It looks all wrong, forced and brittle at the edges, and Pope nearly flinches away. “I’m not letting you go alone, man. I’m coming with you.”


	4. to you, I'll give the world

“Bro,” JJ says, turning to him with wide, glassy eyes. 

“Hmm,” he mummers, flicking his gaze up over the top of a faded copy of A Wizard of Earthsea. He’s read it before, many times, so he’s mostly been skimming his favorite bits as the buzz of JJ and Kiara’s conversation washes over him.

Kiara lifts her head off the back of the couch to watch them through narrowed eyes. She got her legs thrown over Pope’s, sprawled across the space between him and JJ. The two of them have been making quick work of JJ’s cousin’s latest experimental strain, and Pope can see the looseness of Kiara’s shoulders and hear the smokey rasp in JJ’s voice.

“Pope,” JJ repeats, shifting fitfully until he’s facing Pope head on. Kiara makes an unhappy noise in protest when he bumps her.

“What, JJ?” Pope laughs.

“Bro, I ever tell you you’re my world?”

“Aw,” Kiara coos, her smirk slow and sweet as molasses. “Pope,” she presses on hand over her heart, “JJ thinks you’re his world.”

He rolls his eyes at her. “Shut up,” he scoffs, ducking his head. A flush of pleasure spreads through his center, something warm and weighted.

“Yeah, like,” JJ pauses, tilting his head towards Kiara’s phone, “the song, y’know?” He hums a bit before singing an entirely different song than what is playing through Kiara’s speakers.

Kiara’s brow scrunches as she cuts an accusatory glare at JJ. “That’s not even the song playing right now,” she snaps. JJ shrugs, careless. He’s shimmying his shoulders to the music, a slow roll back and forth, grinning at Pope like he’s sharing a secret.

“You guys are idiots.” Pope laughs again, shaking off the odd mix of charmed embarrassment after JJ’s confession. They continue arguing, Kiara too worked up now to realize JJ is fucking with her. It’s soothing, the predictability of their bickering, and Pope turns back to his book. 

Still, he doesn’t stop smiling for the rest of the afternoon.


	5. this old world, is a new world

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the music wrapped playlist prompt: feeling good by nina simone

The first thing JJ is aware of is the bright yellow light painting stripes across his face.

The second thing JJ is aware of is the pain.

He loses his breath as he goes to turn over, a deep ache in his ribs. There’s a riot in his head, an incessant pounding that’s drowning out any coherent thought. His face is raw, tender. He can map the shape and color of the bruises without looking.

Reality returns to him in fragments. Day old fear clings to the back of his throat, cottony and stale as a hangover. Which, as pieces of his night return, he might also be suffering from.

Someone shifts next to him, cool fingers gentle over his skin, and somehow that hurts worse than a closed fist.

“JJ,” it’s Kie’s voice, rough with sleep. She’s a small and protective weight at his back.

“I’m fine,” JJ whispers, his own voice cracking from misuse. He swallows thickly, risks blinking his eyes open against the late morning light spilling across the bed. There’s that familiar itch - an urge to ruin, to crack an offensive joke, to flee and hide.

But it dies in his chest when he catches sight of Pope’s face slack with sleep, the smooth dip of his brows and the slight part of his lips. Last night, Pope looked at him with those disarming eyes, wide and terrified, and the tension that’s been building between them this summer cracked open, spilling all of JJ’s messy, terrible insides before them.

They’d all been too breakable to part last night, falling into bed in a jumble of limbs, Pope and Kiara bookended on either side of him. It’d been too hot, sleeping between them, but it’d been so long since JJ had rested, and he’d slept the soundless and dreamless sleep of the dead, held safe in his friends’ embrace.

There’s still so much shit they have to deal with - the gold, and John B, his dad - but for now, JJ can watch Pope’s face slowly come awake, the flutter of his lashes and the subtle shift of his breathing.

“Hi,” Pope says, a sleepy smile curling the corners of his mouth. His hand reaches across the canyon of space between their pillows, tracing the slope of JJ’s temple, pushing the sweaty hair back. Pope’s mouth quirks higher, “you need a haircut.”

“You going to give me one?” JJ’s eyebrows going up, stinging as he irritates a fresh cut. He hisses, displacing Pope’s hand as he reaches for it.

“Idiot,” Pope says, voice filled with fondness. He knocks JJ’s hand away, thumb brushing over the pain, chasing it away.

“Shut up and go back to sleep, both of you,” Kiara grumbles, voice muffled into JJ’s back.

And who is JJ to argue with her? He drifts into a hazy, half-sleeping fog, lulled by Pope’s light, gentle touch.

**Author's Note:**

> you can send requests over at my [tumblr](https://colfields.tumblr.com/) but please be warned that I update sporadically at best.


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